‘Alas,’ quoth he, ‘I’m in the well!’
‘No matter,’ quoth she, ‘if thou wert in hell.
111,2.
‘Thou saidst thou could sing me out of hell,
I prithee sing thy self out of the well.
Sing out,’ quoth she, ‘with all thy might,
Or else thou’rt like to sing there all night.’
113,4.
The fryer sang out with a pitiful sound,
Oh help me out, or I shall be drownd!